No Such Thing
by Onigori1
Summary: There is no such thing as coincidence.  England knows this.  Why, then, did this happen?  I don't really know what to put this under, so I suppose it is a FrUK...  Warnings:  Character death, light BL


**Kenzie: Okay, so I got this idea while reading **_**Guideposts**_**. I read a story about this woman who lost her husband and how he reached her from beyond the grave, and of course my mind instantly conjures up this idea. Enjoy~**

**Nashi: Kenzie-san doesn't own anything, including the plot this time.**

No Such Thing

There was no such thing as coincidence. No, there was always an explanation, a reason, an excuse. Arthur Kirkland knew this to be true; after all, it had been a series of so-called "coincidences" that had led him to meet, fall in love with, and eventually marry his husband, Francis Bonnefoy. Arthur had missed his train, and ended up riding on the next one in the same car as Francis. The two met again a week later in a little coffee shop on the corner, a pleasant surprise on both counts. Francis lost his job; later that month he began working in the same office as Arthur (in the neighboring cubicle, no less).

Playful fighting abounded wherever the pair went, each word and punch delivered with love in its wake. Shameless flirting (mostly on Francis's part) soon turned into something more, tender moments becoming more common for the blondes. Simple caresses were a normal event; fingers played with long waves of hair, palms slid down hips without a thought. It was a March afternoon when Francis got down on his knee. He had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when Arthur had pulled him up, murmuring his assent before pressing his lips against the Frenchman's.

The wedding was a simple affair, with only a few friends and a priest present. They said their vows and went on a honeymoon, moving on to the newest stage of their relationship with grace. Two young boys were adopted, and although they bore no blood relation to one another, they could have been twins. The elder one was Matthew, a sweet young Canadian with long, wavy, blonde hair and violet eyes. Three days his junior was Alfred, a brightly excitable American with short, sandy hair and an odd addiction to hamburgers. They were a tightly knit pair, completely inseparable from the time they met at the orphanage. Matthew was much closer to his parents than his brother, though. Al was forever getting in fights with Arthur, Francis having to step in at the last moment to settle things out. When they weren't fighting, Al and Arthur were close, but Matt still enjoyed spending time with Arthur more than Al.

The boys were seventeen when Francis was hit by a car. Subject to several broken ribs, internal bleeding, and heart complications, he was bedridden for months on end. Always weak and unable to go anywhere with his family, he delighted in treating his husband to a night out with Matthew. Alfred was always offered the opportunity, but he preferred to stay home and work on various projects or just spend time with his papa. It became a weekly ritual; every Friday, Francis (who had become strong enough to walk throughout the house) would come out of the master bedroom to sit on the couch with Al while Matthew cooked dinner for the two of them. Arthur would come into the room, and Francis would pull him into a loving kiss, wishing him a good time with his eldest son. Arthur would return the kiss, reminding him to be careful and not hurt himself any more than was absolutely necessary. Once Matthew finished cooking, he would bring the food to the two on the couch, pressing a kiss to his papa's cheek before walking over to his other father, who would be standing by the door with his jacket in one hand and the movie tickets in the other. They would bid the others farewell and leave, returning several hours later to find that Francis and Alfred had both fallen asleep on the couch, movie credits rolling by on the television. The two still awake would carry the others back to their rooms, Arthur carrying his husband, Matthew carrying his brother. The week would pass, and Friday would come again, only to be spent in the same way.

Eight months after the crash, Francis's condition worsened, resulting in the man sinking into a coma. Arthur spent his days sitting beside his hospital bed, his face hidden in his arms, shoulders shaking gently with silent sobs. The boys took care of each other, visiting their fathers on the weekends. Six weeks passed, and Francis succumbed to the beckon of death. He woke up an hour beforehand to give Arthur one last kiss, whispering, "I love you," before falling back into the coma's grasp. The funeral passed quickly, leaving Arthur nothing but bittersweet memories. The boys' birthdays passed, and they both moved out, moving on with their lives.

A month after the boys left, six months since Francis's passing, Arthur worked up the resolve to clean out his late husband's dresser, intending to pack up his clothes into boxes and move them into the attic. However, upon opening the top drawer and seeing all the spare change Francis put in there over the years, he broke down crying. He held an old jacket of Francis's close to his chest and sobbed, remembering their last kiss.

This was how Matthew found him twenty minutes later. He immediately rushed to his father's side, comforting him. Within five minutes, the sobs had ended, leaving only light sniffling behind. "I'm sorry," Arthur whispered. Matthew shook his head.

"There's nothing to be sorry for; I've been keeping Al from hysterics for the past seven months. Come on, you need to get out of the house." With that, Matthew pulled his father up from the ground and pulled a small bag out of his pocket. He swept all the change into it, tying it off. In response to Arthur's questioning gaze, he said, "We'll have this converted to cash."

Fifteen minutes was all it took to get ready and choose a movie. They went by the bank and did what Matthew suggested, Arthur pocketing the cash along with the receipt. They then went to the movie and out to dinner, leaving a tip for their waitress, Elizaveta, on the table. It was the first time Arthur really had a good time since Francis passed on. Suddenly, something struck Arthur as odd. He whipped out the receipts for the movie, dinner, and the bank and consulted them. "The bloody git…" he mumbled to himself, smirking. Matthew looked at him inquisitively and was given the small pieces of paper. The movie and the dinner, including the tip, added up to $68.47. The bank receipt said that they received $68.47.

"No way…" Matthew breathed, not believing his eyes.

Arthur turned his face to the clouds, thanking Francis for treating him and Matthew one last time.

There is no such thing as coincidence, indeed.


End file.
